


Together Alone

by LittleLostPieces



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Banter, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, Relationship Discussions, Teacher Louis, YouTuber Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostPieces/pseuds/LittleLostPieces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hasn’t happened in what feels like forever.  Between Harry’s fashion blog taking off about six months ago, leading to a popular YouTube channel and a book deal, and Louis preparing to teach again, they’ve barely had a minute to themselves.  Even when they’re home, they’re too busy to hang out like they used to when their lives were simple and unencumbered by stupid things like responsibility, careers and homeownership and the like.</p><p>“So,” Harry starts, eyes darting to the ceiling and back to Louis again, “what do we do with all this free time?”</p><p>Louis shrugs.  “I have no idea.”  </p><p>--</p><p>Six years into their relationship, Harry and Louis remember just how much they like spending time together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together Alone

**Author's Note:**

> As a word of warning: One of the characters in this story lives with anxiety issues. While it is not severe, there are mentions of it in this story so please beware of it if that is triggering for you. 
> 
> This story has been months in the making and started as nothing but a smutty little piece of nothing. It has somehow grown into a monster that I now love. By "somehow," I mean Leslie [eyesofshinigami](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesofshinigami/pseuds/eyesofshinigami) is a ~~filthy enabler~~ fabulous cheerleader. Thanks for not letting me quit on this.
> 
> Title comes from the song _Somebody Loved_ by The Weepies, which was a huge inspiration for this story (along with _Perfect for Me_ by Ron Pope and _Goddamn You're Beautiful_ by Chester See.)

It’s actually kind of disgusting, Louis thinks, as she runs the brush of her burgundy varnish over the nail of her big toe. 

Harry is sitting out there, just beyond the bathroom door, perched so pretty on the edge of their unmade bed. She’s only wearing a scrap of fabric she calls knickers and a silk robe she ordered online. Her dark hair tumbles over her shoulder and down her back, pushed over on one side so it doesn’t get tangled up in the guitar she’s not-so-softly strumming as she hums to herself. She hasn’t even showered yet and she’s the most beautiful thing Louis has ever seen, spotlighted by the early autumn, early morning sunlight. Yep, it’s disgusting.

However, it’s a bit hard to be mad at it when this transcendent creature is sitting on the bed she shares with Louis. She maybe feels a bit proud of that, Louis does.

“Sounds good, babe,” Louis says, cringing when her brush slips and leaves a blood-colored streak along the edge of her toe.

Harry just rolls her eyes, fingers stumbling over the strings a bit as she levels Louis with a glare. “Thought it was a ‘ _bloody fucking racket_ ’, yeah?”

Okay, fine. So maybe at half six it sounded like a bloody fucking racket, but this is the first day Louis’ had to sleep in since school started back up six weeks ago. She’s been a responsible fucking adult for long enough. A lovely lie in is a luxury she has not been afforded for the last month and a half and she was really looking forward to it this morning.

She loves Harry, has absolutely zero shortage of love for this woman who turned her head and flipped her world on its ear from the day they met back in uni, but she does have a shortage of sleep in her life right now. Being awakened at quarter past six by some half-assed attempt at songwriting, even by the love of her life, was a bit much an hour ago.

“It’s good,” she assures Harry, moving on to finish painting her toes so she can get off this cold, porcelain toilet seat. Maybe she should have put joggers on when she got out of the shower, but it seemed like too much effort at the time. Besides, if Harry can prance around in a thong and a wisp of silk, Louis can comfortably rock her own cotton panties and an oversized vest. 

Harry stumbles over another chord and giggles - she always giggles when she makes a mistake on her guitar, which is maybe Louis’ favorite thing in the world - before she rests it in her lap and sighs. “I keep thinking it will turn into something, but it hasn’t yet,” she groans.

When she’s finished the first coat - let’s be honest, it’ll be the only coat because Louis has absolutely no patience for things like watching nail varnish dry - she stretches her legs out and wiggles her toes. “It’s already something,” she starts to tell Harry and then stops short. 

It’s not her fault she’s lost her concentration. Harry is pulling her hair into a top knot, twisting it and securing it with the elastic she always wears around her wrist, and the bruises Louis sucked into Harry’s collarbones last night are now fully visible. Louis can’t be blamed for forgetting what she was about to say, can she?

“What?” Harry asks, eyes wide and completely unaware of just how breathtaking she is.

Louis shakes herself out of her stupor and inwardly curses herself for being so damn soppy. “Nothing,” she insists, standing and stretching her arms over her head before stepping out of the bathroom. “So what’s on your agenda this morning, love?”

“Nothing,” Harry answers with a shrug.

“That is not possible,” Louis says, bouncing on the bed and nearly knocking Harry and her guitar onto the floor.

She’s not the most graceful, Louis’ girlfriend of going on six years now. Harry flails and trips and nearly breaks a bone at least twice a week. She almost blew the house up at the barbecue they hosted a few months back, though she insists that the grill was supposed to flame like that when she lit it. It’s easier for Louis to just look the other way and pretend she can’t see how Harry is about to fall right off of her incredibly expensive designer boots sometimes.

Managing to find her balance before something shatters, Harry wobbles a bit as she stands, cracking her back and moving slowly toward corner, resting her guitar on its stand and turning to stretch her arms over her head, like Louis did earlier.

But Louis wasn’t topless, her tiny nipples pebbled in the chilled air. Harry is and hers are. It’s quite distracting.

“It is possible,” Harry finally says, falling back on the bed and arching until her back cracks again. “I have photos backlogged for my site. I’ve got a meeting with my editor on Monday, but I can prep for that tomorrow night, so other than weeding my flower beds, I have no plans. Well, aside from football tomorrow afternoon, I suppose. How much marking do you have to do?”

“None,” Louis says, as surprised herself as Harry looks. “I finished it while my students were taking a test yesterday.”

“Home repairs? Decorating projects? DIY that you found on Pinterest but won’t admit that you found on Pinterest?” 

Harry’s smile is playful when Louis glances over her shoulder to meet Harry’s eyes. “No, nothing. I have no plans this weekend whatsoever.”

It hasn’t happened in what feels like forever. Between Harry’s fashion blog taking off about six months ago, leading to a popular YouTube channel and a book deal, and Louis preparing to teach again, they’ve barely had a minute to themselves. Even when they’re home, they’re too busy to hang out like they used to when their lives were simple and unencumbered by stupid things like responsibility, careers and homeownership and the like.

“So,” Harry starts, eyes darting to the ceiling and back to Louis again, “what do we do with all this free time?”

There are about a thousand dirty ideas that filter through Louis’ mind - most of them spurred by the fact that Harry is virtually naked and all stretched out across their bed like she is now - but when she opens her mouth to voice them, nothing comes out. Those thoughts are followed by about a thousand other, much more chaste, ideas but none of those float into the air, either.

Louis shrugs. “I have no idea.” One thing does come to her, so she smiles and pushes her drying fringe out of her eyes - it was quiffed when it was wet, but now that it’s drying, it’s falling all over the place - before reaching out to run the backs over her knuckles over Harry’s tattooed arm. “Well, I mean, you could make me breakfast, if you wanted.”

With a truly unattractive snort, Harry rolls onto her side, away from Louis, and pushes herself up on the bed. “Fine. But you’re doing the dishes this time,” she insists, grunting as she stands and makes her way to the set of drawers on the near wall of this two-bedroom bungalow they purchased together a year ago now.

She pulls one of Louis’ old, washer-soft tees from the drawer, holding it up and considering it for a moment. If Louis had her say, Harry would cook exactly as she is now, but the last time she suggested as much, she got smack in the arm. Apparently, Harry doesn’t love the feeling of bacon grease jumping out of a frying pan and onto her naked tits. Unreasonable, if you ask Louis, but she’s not going to deny she loves this aesthetic, too.

Her statuesque girlfriend dressed in nothing but Louis’ shirt - the one Harry chose today falls to the center of her thigh tattoo, which drives Louis wild for some reason - while making breakfast in their small kitchen as she wiggles her hips to whatever song happens to be on the radio at the time she’s cooking is good, too.

“Right,” Louis announces, in lieu of nothing, watching as Harry leaves the room. “I’ll just,” she stops short again because, well, she has no idea what she’s going to do. 

\---

It’s been forty six days since Harry has made the time to cook breakfast for Louis. She’s handled dinner a few times in the last couple of months, but grabbing a takeaway on the way home is easier when they’re both as busy as they have been. There’s something therapeutic about the cooking process, though, something Harry should remember when life gets a bit too hectic and she’s starting to feel overwhelmed.

It’s not just the cooking, of course. She does that more often, whipping up lunch for herself or baking something because she has a bit of free time during the day, before Louis gets home in the evenings. That’s all fine and good as it helps her to clear her head and gives her time to put some of her thoughts into order, thoughts that normally swirl chaotically through her mind at all hours. She does some of her best brainstorming while cooking, if she’s honest, but channeling all of that focus into making something she knows Louis will love is different. It’s an expression that she can’t always find the words to verbalize. 

As the bacon crackles and the bread sizzles in their respective pans, Harry begins to think through her day. 

She spent too much time on that damn unfinishable song this morning, time she should have spent doing yoga or going for a run, so maybe she can squeeze that in while Louis is eating, no doubt in front of the telly while she catches up on the football highlights from last night. When she gets home, she’ll weed the flower beds and then shower. She needs a few things from the farmer’s market - maybe by then, she’ll think of a way to convince Louis to go with her - and then she probably needs to check her email at some point. She’ll also have to figure out which snack foods she’s going to make for tomorrow, when her brother’s family is coming over for the American football game at three.

“Smells awesome in here,” Louis says, scratching her hip as she enters the kitchen.

Harry feels her cheeks heat. How is it, she wonders, that Louis can still make her blush after six years together? One stupid compliment shouldn’t make her feel all mushy inside, but it does.

“Thanks,” she whispers, sliding the bread out of the pan and giving the brown sauce a stir in its pot. “Your tea should be ready, babe,” she says, shrugging in the direction of the kettle.

It seems like it took about a thousand years for Louis to trust Harry with making her morning tea. Actually, it took about that long for Harry to trust herself with making it. Louis is very particular about her tea, too particular in Harry’s opinion.

When she turns from the hob, she stops short. Louis is leaning against the counter, cradling the mug against her mouth with two hands. There’s a hint of her early morning grump face there, but the pleased smile is fighting through. It makes Harry want to cuddle her a bit, but she busies herself with fixing Louis’ plate instead.

“This is great,” Louis compliments, causing Harry’s face to heat again. Sometimes Harry is fairly certain Louis does it on purpose, but she can’t be bothered by it. If Louis likes to see Harry flush, Harry welcomes the uncomfortable heat.

Once the bacon sandwich is ready, Harry grabs the melon she sliced a minute ago and arranges it carefully on the plate. She’s well aware that Louis is watching her every move, but she can’t say she hates that, either. She can admit it, she likes attention, and no one’s attention thrills her more than Louis’ eyes on her.

“Wait,” Louis says, pushing off the counter and making her way over to Harry at the island. She lifts onto her toes and rests her chin on Harry’s shoulder. “Where’s yours?”

Harry nods at the blueberry protein balls she made last night and pulled out of the fridge this morning. “I’m going to pop a few of those before I run, I think,” she says.

“You’re not eating with me?” Louis asks, her voice thinner than a second ago.

Turning to face Louis, weaving her arms around Louis’ neck, she presses a kiss to the end of Louis’ nose. “Figured you’d wanna watch some telly with yours,” she says.

Louis’ responding smile is sweet, appreciative even, but she shakes her head, nuzzling her nose against Harry’s jaw for a moment. “Checked the scores back in the bedroom. Just wanna spend a day with you.”

Butterflies beat a disjointed, erratic rhythm in Harry’s stomach, her entire body tingling at the simple words. It occurs to her that they used to be like this all the time, the inseparable and PDA-obsessed couple that drove everyone crazy with their inflated affection for one another, but time and life has settled them. That doesn’t mean Harry’s heart doesn’t still love knowing that Louis wants her now like she did the day they met.

“Well, I could probably skip my workout for one day,” she says, her voice pitched low and slow as she presses her body flush against Louis’ smaller, curvier one. 

Louis laughs against Harry’s mouth and tangles the fingers of her right hand into Harry’s hair, tugging it out of it’s knot just slightly. “Yeah? Think we can stand each other for a whole day? No distractions, just us?”

“I mean, it’s gotta be a little like riding a bike, innit? We can’t have completely forgotten how to have a little fun together,” Harry teases, nipping her teeth against Louis’ lip and giggling. 

Louis’ fingertips are warm against Harry’s side as they drag slowly across her skin, their hips rocking just enough to be playful. “Hm,” Louis sighs, brushing their lips together again and breathing her words against Harry’s open mouth as she gasps, “Think we had a little fun last night, didn’t we?”

When Louis bites down on one of the bruises she left on Harry’s collarbone last night, Harry’s heart jumps into her throat. “Yeah,” she mumbles, brain fogging a bit with the pleasure-pain of it. This has the potential to turn the very opposite of innocent, very quickly, so Harry clears her throat and pushes Louis just far enough away to see the entirety of her face. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Though she opens her mouth to protest, Louis immediately closes it and pouts her lips, taking a dramatic step back and sighing heavily, all put out and frustrated and adorable. “Fine,” she responds, “but only because I know we have time to pick this back up later,” she adds, reaching around Harry to grab her plate. “C’mon, let’s eat in the back garden.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry agrees, taking another deep breath to slow her heart rate back to normal. “Just, I’ll make myself something and join you in a mo, yeah?”

With a happy peck of a kiss, Louis takes her tea and her plate and heads out the back door, letting it slam in her wake.

Harry rolls her eyes - she may never teach Louis to let a door shut quietly, she’s accepted that - before setting about making herself a quick parfait. This woman will be the death of her someday, but Harry is pretty okay with that.

\---

As it turns out, they’re not really good at doing nothing anymore. It used to be easy, lying around in bed, watching Netflix, making out in between naps, and only getting up for the barest necessities. In uni and even directly after, when they rented that hellacious one bedroom flat where the heating never worked right and Louis could swear she heard mice skittering across the ceiling panels at night, wasting time together was easy.

Today, while they were eating breakfast, they started making a list of things they should do with their day. Harry could only sit still for about fifteen minutes before she started weeding her flower beds. Louis watched, then attempted to help, and was promptly told to sit her ass down until Harry was finished because Harry didn’t _need that kind of help, Louis, thank so much, I love you though._

Instead, she made herself useful by raking leaves from the large tree in the center of the garden, bagging them and setting them out front to deal with later. It didn’t take as long as she remembers it taking as a kid. Maybe because she didn’t stop to run through the pile and kick it all over the place this time.

“Alright, I’m going to shower,” Harry finally announces, pulling her hands from her thick, gardening gloves - they’re the same kind Louis’ nan used to wear, which is so warmly nostalgic, it almost makes Louis’ stomach hurt - and tossing them onto the table, where Louis has settled into another cup of Harry’s fantastic tea.

Sometimes she thinks the fact that she’s found someone who can make her tea to her liking is the only true sign that they are meant to be.

She tilts her face to accept Harry’s kiss when she comes over and hums into it. “Love you,” she whispers because she’s not sure she says it enough and she never wants Harry to think Louis doesn’t love her more than anything.

“I know,” Harry answers with a cheeky wink and the warmest of her fond smile. “I love you, too, babe. After I shower, do you want to take a walk around town maybe? We could hit the farmer’s market and do some window shopping?”

Though she groans, Louis nods. It’s partially to see Harry smile like that, satisfied and overjoyed really, and partially because Louis doesn’t hate shopping as much as Harry seems to think she does. She uses the time Harry is away to brace herself for the argument they’ll inevitably have at least once while they’re out today. 

Look, the problem is not that Louis spends her spare change on frivolous purchases, like Harry seems to think it is. Her taste is not nonsensical and impractical, as Harry loves to say it is, but Louis is not the fashion blogger of this couple and she doesn’t fucking care about construction and body lines and all of the other bullshit that Harry has grown accustomed to noticing over the years. If it looks cool and it fits, that’s enough for Louis.

Also, Louis works as hard for her own money as Harry does for hers. If she wants to spend it on decorative pieces that don’t match anything else in their house and a million more graphic tees, she can. Their aesthetics are just different. Harry’s is wrong and Louis has accepted that. Someday, she reckons Harry will figure it out, too. Maybe after she trips over yet another of Louis’ _stupid, fucking statues, what even is that supposed to be, Louis? I think it’s watching me! Get it out of my house. Please?_

Pushing herself out of her chair, Louis takes her mug into the kitchen and heads back to the bedroom to get herself dressed. She should probably put some jeans on if they’re going to leave the house.

“What’s with the face?” Harry asks from her place on the bed, her long leg extended as she works lotion over her smooth skin. 

Louis feels her brow furrow. “What?” she asks dumbly. Harry does that to her sometimes, steals the words right out of her brain.

As though she knows exactly what Louis’ thinking, Harry snorts a laugh and stands, slipping into a pair of cut offs. “You’re having a money argument in your head already, aren’t you?” she predicts.

“No,” Louis insists, sticking her tongue out at Harry before crossing to their wardrobe to grab the jeans Harry always hangs up when Louis leaves them in the laundry basket for too long. “Shut up. If I see something I like, I’m going to buy it.”

“I know,” Harry answers without much inflection at all. Maybe she’s annoyed, maybe they’ve reached that magical point where she’s given up. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with Harry. For someone who expresses herself so eloquently in written form, she’s not the best communicator of emotions, honestly. 

When Louis turns, Harry is busy adorning herself with a couple of necklaces, rings on most of her fingers, and about fifteen gold and silver bracelets. She’s in a jewelry phase right now, along with all things skin-tight and see-through, but Louis knows it will pass eventually, like the scarves and the flannel did, and the baggy pants and polo shirts and blazers before that.

Her passing whimsies are just another thing Louis loves about Harry, she realizes with a start. There are so many things to love really, but the weirdly random and quirky ones are the ones that always catch her off guard.

“You ready to go?” she asks, stuffing her wallet into her pocket after making sure that her house key is inside it.

With a shrug, Harry looks Louis over, head to toe, and catches her smile in her teeth. She looks at Louis playfully, knowingly. “You thinkin’ about wearin’ shoes maybe?”

“Nope,” Louis answers as sarcastically as she can in one syllable and then bounces from the room in search of her favorite Vans. Let Harry pour over her collection of fifteen pair of the same boots. Louis knows what she likes and stands by it. 

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of dicking around with last minute preparations that don’t need to be made, Harry meets Louis on the front stoop. Her damp hair is sticking to her neck and she smells like a mixture of body wash, shampoo, perfume, and rushing-around sweat. It’s perfect, really.

“Sorry,” she apologizes automatically, taking Louis’ hand when she offers it with a shake of her head. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t bother because it’s just bumming around, but the devil’s in the details, ya know?”

“Hey,” Louis says, tugging on Harry’s hand until they stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “You are beautiful,” she says, meaning every word because she’s convinced it’s not even possible for Harry to have a bad anything day, hair or otherwise. “Proud to have you next to me any day,” she adds.

The pink tint that works its way up Harry’s neck and into her cheeks, bleeding into the tips of her ears, is also beautiful, but Louis won’t say so. Though Harry loves compliments, she doesn’t know how to take them and hates returning them for fear of seeming insincere in the moment, grows awkward and uncomfortable in a not-great way very quickly, so Louis just squeezes her hand and kisses her cheek before she starts walking again.

The sun is shining. There’s just the slightest hint of an autumnal chill in the air. The most stunning woman on Earth has her fingers tangled up with Louis’ and they have nothing to do but spend their time together. It’s a pretty great day really.

\---

Ask any of their friends who, between Harry and Louis, is most likely to crack the baby question first, and the answer will undoubtedly be Harry.

The thing is, they don’t know. Sure, Harry coos and babbles all over hers and Louis’ nieces and nephews and virtually any other baby she comes across, but she is busy and it’s taken six weeks to find one day to spend with Louis. Even that was a happy accident. A baby is going to make it even more impossible. At twenty-four, Harry isn’t sure she’s ready for that just yet.

It’s Louis who stops in front of the window of the locally-owned baby boutique, silently grinning like a Cheshire Cat as she peruses the carriage and the little onesies on display.

“Look at those, babe,” Louis says, pointing to a gray tee that says _I make adorable babies_ , and a matching infant onesie that says, _Adorable Baby_ in a bold, graphic print. It’s so Louis, Harry doesn’t bother rolling her eyes.

“Hm. ‘S true, you will,” she says honestly, because Louis’ entirely family sports an overwhelming resemblance to one another, so it’s obvious that Louis’ genes are strong. Her baby will definitely look just like her someday and adorable is a no-brainer.

Louis outright laughs when she points to another, slightly larger, baby’s tee. _Cool Story Mom. Tell it again._ Harry elbows Louis in the side before she can make some crack about Harry’s pointless, rambling stories. 

“Ha,” she says, as dryly as she possibly can.

Though Harry could happily move on - this day was about window shopping, after all - it’s not hard to notice that Louis isn’t moving.

“Alright, come on,” Harry says, reaching for the shop’s door handle. 

“Oh we don’t have to,” Louis assures her, blinking a couple of times and tearing her eyes away from the display. “I was just-,” she stops short when Harry pulls the door open and nods. “Alright, just for a second then.”

When they step inside, Harry fully expects to follow Louis around, nodding and smiling when Louis finds something she likes, and then head on to the next place. There’s a hat shop next door that Harry hasn’t been in for months. This stuff is cute, tiny and soft and cuddly and pastel. It’s all lovely, really, but it’s just not Harry’s thing.

Except. Well, Louis is kind of glowing now. Everything she touches makes her eyes shine a bit brighter, grow a bit wider, and she chuckles and giggles at everything. She runs her fingers along the edges of satin-trimmed blankets and stares a little too long at a rack of teeny, tiny beanies. It’s not a stretch to imagine Louis buying one of everything in this place, given the chance, regardless of whether or not it matches.

Harry only turns her back for a second, distracted for a brief moment by the soft laughter of a tiny baby boy in a pram, just twists at her waist to make a silly face at this precious little one, but when she looks back, Louis is gone. The shop isn’t really big enough to completely lose her girlfriend, so Harry’s not exactly panicking. She’s more wondering how Louis, who is everything except quiet, managed to slip away completely undetected.

She finally finds Louis in the far corner, just beyond the registers, beside a white, wooden crib. All of the linens are white in this faux-nursery, but the pillows and the art above the bed are a bright, rainbow of hot air balloons. She starts to say something about the impracticality of white bedsheets for an infant who does nothing but poop and throw up, but Louis’ profile strikes her silent.

Her face is twisted, a strict mask of concentration in an effort to hold emotion at bay. Harry’s seen the look enough to know exactly what it is, and to know that Louis isn’t going to appreciate being called out for crying over a goddamn baby crib.

“Hey, babe,” Harry whispers, wrapping her arms around Louis’ waist from behind and resting her chin on Louis’ shoulder. “Thought you were anti-traditional baby gear, huh?”

 

Sniffling once, Louis clears her throat before she speaks. “I’m being stupid,” she says, chuckling sardonically for a moment. “I just. Fuck, Harry, I want one.”

It’s the first time she’s ever said it, but it’s not a huge surprise to Harry. “Yeah?” 

Louis doesn’t turn, she won’t as long as she’s emotional, but she nods. “Yeah, I do. I mean, I never thought I would, ya know? Told myself it was impossible and then there were a million other excuses, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s still a stupid idea,” she adds, shrugging a bit.

“It’s not stupid,” Harry assures her, pulling Louis’ back tight against her chest. “It’s not stupid at all.” So maybe she’s not there yet, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t fully envision having a giant family with Louis someday. That someday may be way down the line in Harry’s mind, but it’s there nonetheless.

Wiping her cheek, Louis whispers her next question. “Do you think about it?”

Finally, Harry turns Louis around and offers her a smile. She’s not good at saying these things, isn’t comfortable with it, but she will. “Sometimes,” she admits. “I like the way things are now and I know a baby will change that, but honestly? Since I met you, it’s been inevitable for me. I’ve never imagined a future with you that doesn’t include our kids.”

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out, wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck. “I love you so much. I promise I won’t bring it up again. I just. I fucking love you.”

Louis must feel how hard Harry’s heart is pounding. She has to see the tears that well up before Harry can blink them back under control. She doesn’t say anything, though, just kisses Harry and runs a thumb under her eye.

“I don’t want you to avoid talking about something you want just because I’m not quite there yet. Maybe later we can have a real conversation about it?” she offers. “I mean, we’ve got time this weekend, right?”

Finally, Louis laughs, a sharp burst of a sound that echoes through the shop. With her hands on both of Harry’s cheeks, she pulls her in and kisses her hard. They’re both sniffling a bit, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters.

They leave the shop hand-in-hand, moving slowly and shaking off the remnants of emotion still clinging to the edges of the air between them. 

“Ya know what I wish?” Harry says suddenly, bumping her shoulder against Louis’ as they walk.

“One can only speculate what goes on inside that complicated mind of your, my love,” Louis teases, kissing Harry’s temple without breaking her stride.

Pressing her mouth right up against Louis’ ear, she says, “I wish I could _make_ a baby with you.”

“Well,” Louis stammers for a moment and then returns a wicked grin of her own. “I mean, I am a drama teacher, babe. I know it’s not the same, but I’m quite good at acting.”

And there’s Harry’s heart again, trip hammering in her chest as she thinks about the possibilities. 

“We should definitely get on that when we get home,” she insists, laughing when Louis pinches her waist and then slings an arm around her shoulder. “After we stop at the farmer’s market, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Louis teases, kissing Harry’s jaw before she stops them in front of the hat shop. “And probably here, too?” she asks knowingly. “I mean, who needs hardcore fucking when you can have hats and produce?”

Fuck, but Harry loves this woman so, so much. “Sure, you can look at it like that. Or you could ask yourself who needs to choose between hardcore fucking and hats and produce when we have enough time for all of them?” 

She punctuates the question with a cheeky smile and doesn’t wait for Louis’ answer before grabbing a handful of her shirt and tugging her into the hat shop.

\---

“Remind me again what on Earth one person could possibly need this many berries for,” Louis teases as she lifts the bag she’s been carrying since they left the farmer’s market.

Harry just rolls her eyes and shifts her own bag of greens from one hand to the other. “Salad dressings, snacks, smoothies,” she lists, her eyes growing wide as she adds, “and those little white chocolate pastries you love so much.”

“Those have fruit in?” Louis asks, hanging back a bit while Harry unlocks their front door. 

“They’re literally called white chocolate _raspberry_ tartes, babe,” she explains, leading the way to the kitchen and dropping her bag on the island. 

Louis follows and then leans against the sink, crossing her arms over her chest. “I do like those,” she admits.

Harry is a vision, flitting around the kitchen, grabbing bags and bowls for cleaning her many, many produce finds from the market. “If you’re nice to me, I will make you some later,” she promises, winking and kissing Louis’ cheek before she nudges her aside with a hip.

“How very dare you,” Louis exclaims, digging her fingers into Harry’s hip until Harry snorts a giggle and squirms away. “I’m always nice to you.”

“Meh,” Harry says with a shrug. 

“I’ll ‘meh’ you,” Louis responds, wrapping Harry up in a hug before she can flit away again.

She’s not one to get overly soppy very often, but today has been one of the best days she can remember having. In the everyday hustle of their lives, she knows Harry has her back. When she needs support, Harry will be there without a doubt. Sometimes she forgets just how much fun she has with this girl, though. She goes out with Liam after work sometimes and they have a great time hanging out, but she forgets that Harry was her mate before she was anything else, that they were friends who liked spending time together before they were friends that liked fucking around together, before they were partners who tackled everything in life together.

After angling her head to let Louis suck on her neck for a second, Harry asks, “What do you want for lunch, babe?” in the softest, breathy whisper that gives Louis an inexplicable tingle.

She doesn’t answer right away, brushing her fingers beneath Harry’s shirt, trailing them over Harry’s soft stomach. “You said you needed to check your email, yeah?” Harry hums an affirmation. “So you go do that and I’ll make us some lunch, okay?”

 

Turning abruptly, her eyebrow arched, Harry asks, “I’m sorry, what?”

She smiling, teasing, so Louis just tugs on one of Harry’s curls and says, “You heard me. Go. I’ll handle it.”

“Make sure you put something natural in it,” Harry instructs, a finger pressing into Louis’ sternum. “Something light, please.”

“Would you just trust me?” Louis asks, laughing when Harry kisses her and flounces from the room.

If she’s completely honest, Louis has no idea what she’s going to make for lunch. She only offered because it seemed like a nice thing to do and, in the moment, she really wanted to do something nice for Harry. 

Harry does so many nice things for Louis, unexpected and unplanned things. She was a surprise herself, if Louis is honest. She was in a bad place when they met, Louis was, and certainly in no state for a relationship. There was no reason back then for Harry to look twice in her direction, no matter how much their mutual friends might have talked Louis up, but she did. It’s extraordinary, overwhelming really, if Louis stops to think about it. So she doesn’t think about it that often.

That doesn’t mean she isn’t grateful and that she won’t spend the rest of her life thanking Harry in every way she can possibly think to do it.

The sandwiches aren’t much, but the smoked turkey with pickle is Harry’s favorite. Louis’ own is marmite, which Harry will complain about the smell of, no doubt, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She chucks a few grapes and a couple of celery sticks onto Harry’s plate and some salt & vinegar crisps on hers and grabs two bottles of water before she heads into the lounge to find Harry. 

It’s literally been about five minutes, maybe ten, since they got home. There is no logical reason Harry should be sound asleep on the sofa with her phone resting against her chest. She’s always been able to fall asleep anywhere, though, in about four seconds.

“Hey, babe,” Louis whispers, setting both plates on the end table before she drops to the floor beside Harry. “Hazza.”

Harry stirs when Louis brushes her fingers over Harry’s cheekbone, humming when Louis kisses her chin. “I’m awake,” she mumbles.

“I know,” Louis placates her when Harry blinks her eyes sleepily open. “Hey there, sunshine.”

Her smile is lazy and slow, growing broader as her eyes start to clear. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.” She arches her back and stretches. “I wasn’t even tired.”

“You’re always tired,” Louis reminds her.

Though she rolls her eyes, Harry still struggles to sit, groaning a bit as she does. “What’d you bring me?”

“Sandwich.”

“Mm. I like sandwiches.” She licks her lips as she turns her head, sleepy expression easing effortlessly into a bright smile. “And fruit and veg, too? What a lucky lady I am,” she demurs.

Louis hands her the plate and takes her own, waiting for Harry to move her legs to the floor before sitting at her side. “I’d say we both got pretty lucky, yeah?” She raises her water bottle to Harry’s and knocks them together while Harry flushes and then laughs. 

She leans in to accept the kiss Harry presses to her mouth and then nuzzles their noses together. “What do you say we turn on a film after this and have a little cuddle?”

“That sounds perfect,” Harry agrees, biting into her sandwich and moaning.

The pride that Louis feels has less to do with making Harry moan - she’ll do more of that after lunch - but in knowing that she gave Harry something that she’s genuinely enjoying. That in itself is about the fortieth revelation Louis has had today. People have said she’s a pretty caring person - Liam mostly, though Liam thinks the sun shines out of Louis’ ass and he always has - but Louis knows herself well enough to know that thinking of anyone else’s interests before her own is a challenge.

With Harry, she does it naturally. That probably means something.

\---

This was already the best day ever but Louis has shoved it over the top, honestly. 

While Harry cleaned up after lunch - tossed the paper plates into the trash and washed the knives Louis used to prepare their sandwiches - Louis was in the bedroom, rounding up every blanket they own. Together, they made a truly impressive, little love nest in front of the television. Harry raced off to find all of the pillows while Louis cued up the movie - _The Princess Bride_ , a mutual favorite - and now they’re snuggled up together, cozy and warm while they try to out-quote each other.

She can feel Louis’ breath on her neck as Wesley fights with Fezzik on the screen. She wriggles backward until she feels her bum brush up against Louis’ thighs and she can draw Louis’ arms tighter around her own middle, their hands and legs tangled up together.

It’s such a perfect moment and Harry doesn’t mean to spoil it, really she doesn’t. It’s just. Well, the question has been running circles in her head since earlier this morning and it had to come out eventually. 

“Are you really ready for a baby?”

She hates how small her voice sounds. She’s only ever been a stronger, more confident version of herself with Louis, but this question feels bigger than she’ll ever be at the moment. It doesn’t help that they’re so close, she can feel Louis’ breath hitch. 

Before Harry can apologize, Louis says, “Not until you are.”

Pulling herself away, Harry rolls over and throws her arm around Louis’ waist, keeps just enough distance to make sure she can see Louis’ entire face. She will never, ever admit it, but Louis has the worst poker face in the world. Everyone says Harry is a shit liar, but Louis is easier to read than a children’s book, honestly.

“Don’t. I don’t want want the ‘understanding girlfriend’ answer. Are you ready for a baby?” she asks again.

To her credit, Louis doesn’t even try to hide the kaleidoscope of emotions playing over her face before she answers. “It’s not a political answer, babe. I’m not ready for any kid, any time, anywhere. I’m ready to have a baby with you. The ‘with you’ part is key, so I can’t just say that yes, I’m ready. Because until you are, it’s a non-issue for me.”

The tears spring to Harry’s eyes unbidden. Now that she’s flipped over, forced Louis to look her in the eye, she can’t hide them. Dammit, Louis is supposed to be the emotional one.

“Babe,” Louis whispers, carefully wiping Harry’s tears with her thumb. “C’mon, love, it’s alright that you’re not ready yet. I wasn’t two years ago, either.”

They’re past that, though, aren’t they? Because they’re not eighteen and twenty anymore and they’ve been together for six years. They’re growing together. It’s not about Louis waiting around for Harry to catch up to her maturity. They’re both fucking adults now. 

“I just, it’s all so illogical. I should be ready. I feel like I should be ready, but then I think about how it would change our lives so drastically, how we wouldn’t get days like this anymore.” She sniffles back another round of tears and pushes Louis’ hand away before she can wipe them, too. Harry sits and runs her hands through her hair, then drops them into her lap to stare at her fingers. “That’s not fair, is it? Because, I mean sure, we haven’t had a lot of these days lately, but we’ve had a hundred of them before and that’s a selfish reason to hold back, isn’t it? I’m being absolutely horrible, but I don’t know how not to feel this way.”

Her shoulders are shaking, tears breaking into a sob as she finally surrenders to the emotion she’s been carrying for awhile now. 

Since her niece was born three years ago, Harry has wondered how it’s possible to love Evie as much as she does and not want to love a baby of her own - one she’s going to have with Louis - even more. Gem teases her about when she’s going to give Mum another grandchild, but Harry can’t feel anything more than paralyzing fear when she so much as considers parenthood for herself. Until now, she’s never admitted it out loud, though, and it sounds even more pathetic than it did in her head.

“Hey,” Louis says, crawling to Harry on her knees to wrap her in the tightest hug and rub circles against her back. “I’ve got you,” she breathes softly, evenly against Harry’s neck. “You’re fine, babe. You’ve got to calm down, though, alright? Do you want your inhaler? Can you catch a deep breath for me, Haz? Baby, breathe.”

Until Louis said the words, Harry didn’t realize that she was gasping for short breaths that she couldn’t find. She didn’t realize she was vibrating with it or that her head was going a bit foggy. Now that Louis is holding Harry’s cheeks gently in her hands and breathing in deeply through her nose and out through her mouth, going through the motions Harry needs to follow, it’s becoming painfully clear that Harry needs to mimic it for herself.

She takes a few calming, steadying breaths, interspersed with a couple of gasping ones, until everything begins to even out again. “Sorry,” she whispers, her voice sounding raw through her strained throat. “Sorry, I’m being ridiculous. We’re missing the -,” she nods toward the television.

Louis just holds her face steady, though, and shakes her head. “You’re not being silly at all. Babe, listen to me, okay? And watch me, because I need you to know that I mean every word I’m about to say, yeah?” She waits until Harry nods and actually meets her eye to continue. “We finally own the house we’ve been dreaming about owning for the last few years, yeah? Our love is the stuff of novels and films. Our life is so fucking good just like it is right now. There is nothing wrong with wanting it to stay that way for awhile. That’s not selfish and it’s not unfair of you to feel that way.”

“But, Lou,” Harry interrupts. “It’s _not_ fair for me to put my wants ahead of yours. That’s not fair to you. That’s selfish.”

“Oh, stop it. Don’t make yourself the villain while you’re making me some incredible martyr in your head. Do you remember when you graduated from uni and you got that unbelievable job offer?”

Of course Harry remembers. Louis was already two years into her teaching job and she was loving it. Then Harry was offered the job of her dreams, except that it was in New York. She knew that she couldn’t take a job in America, knowing damn well she’d either have to leave Louis behind or ask her to give up the job she loved in order to follow Harry to a city neither of them knew at all. 

In the end, turning down the offer wasn’t even hard because it wasn’t worth it, even when everyone - Louis included - told her that she was being an idiot. Harry knew herself well enough to know she wouldn’t be truly happy if Louis wasn’t right there with her, physically and emotionally. 

Oh. _Oh_.

Sitting back on her heels, Louis catches her own lip between her teeth before she says, “Ya know, I worried for months that you were going to resent me when you didn’t take that opportunity. I thought for sure you were going to wake up one morning and just hate me for being the reason you stayed here.”

It sounds harsh, cold and sardonic, when Harry laughs. “I’ve done some dumb things, Lou, things that I absolutely regret. I’ve had a few haircuts I wish I could take back and I’ve followed a few fashion trends I’ll never admit to. I cheated on an exam in Year 10 that still haunts me, but I have never, not for single second of the last six years, ever regretted you. Never. I don’t think that’s even a thing that is possible.”

It takes a second, but slowly, Louis reaches her hand out, her pinky extended. When Harry hooks her own little finger around Louis’, Louis smiles and says, “Same. And I never, ever will, babe. I don’t fucking care if it takes you twenty years to be ready.” Harry rolls her eyes, but Louis rolls hers right back. “I’m not being funny. I mean, I don’t know if you realize this, but I love you and I love us way too much to give all of this up for anything.”

“I love you,” Harry says, louder and clearer this time as she leans forward to press her lips to Louis’. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Same,” Louis echoes her earlier sentiment, slipping her hands around Harry’s waist to pull her into a deeper kiss. “I love you the most.”

The flutter in Harry’s heart is because she knows exactly what Louis means. She loves her job and their house and their life and the babies they’ll have someday down the road, but of all the things Louis loves, she loves Harry most. The flutter in Harry’s heart is because, well, “Same.” 

She giggles when she says it against Louis’ mouth.

\---

They’ve only ever had one real fight, as far as Louis can remember. Disagreements are inevitable, obviously, but as far as fighting goes, she and Harry have been relatively good at working things out before they escalate into actual problems. It’s not coincidental that family has traditionally been the crux of their most heated debates, she supposes, as both she and Harry have always been painfully close to their own.

They met at school in Leeds, neither of them much further from their hometowns than the other, and Louis took a teaching job there because it was a good offer and it was close to Harry and her other mates, as well. The job Harry took after uni was close by, so they stayed in Louis’ shitty, little one-bedroom flat for another year.

When they started talking about buying a home together, the idea of relocating came up and all hell broke loose. Louis wanted to look for something closer to Doncaster but Harry was determined to move closer to her own family, insisting that they would both stand a better chance of finding something in the bigger city of Manchester. Her step-dad also had a small bungalow they could live in until they found a house of their own to purchase. Louis refused to move even further away from her family and Harry didn’t want to be further away from hers.

It split them up for a month.

Now that her girl is sound asleep against her side - not an unusual occurrence after Harry finally lets her bottled up emotions come exploding out like she did earlier - wrapped around Louis like a vine and resting so peacefully, Louis thinks about how this disagreement is also about family, but so different from the last one.

Louis can admit she used to be a selfish little shit sometimes. Harry could, too, and she would also admit it. Louis would do backflips if Harry woke up and magically wanted to have a baby right now, she’s so ready for it. She meant it when she said she doesn’t want to do it until Harry is ready, though. Maybe it’s maturity, or just learning to live with someone else and compromise on occasion, but she truly understands that Harry’s opinions are equally valid in this. It makes things more complicated, for sure, but she wouldn’t want to tackle anything in her life without Harry and that includes bringing a child into the world.

When it doesn’t seem like Harry is about to wake up any time soon, Louis carefully untangles herself from Harry’s embrace and heads into the kitchen. She’s not hungry, but she is bored. Snacking seems as good an idea as any.

Her phone rings as she enters the kitchen and she can’t help smiling when her mum’s face is grinning back at her from the screen. “Hello, beautiful lady,” she answers happily, eyes raking over the calendar Harry meticulously keeps on the fridge. She does love her organization, Harry does.

“Hello, dove,” her mum says, soft and warm against Louis’ ear. “How’re you, you alright?”

Louis nods, throwing the fridge open and finding nothing that she wants. “Yeah, you alright?” When her mum hums in Louis’ ear, Louis shuts the door and sighs. “What’s goin’ on with you lot?”

Her mum goes on for awhile about Louis’ brothers and sister, about everything happening in the family while Louis is living her life a couple of hours away. 

“And how’s my little Hazza?” her mum finally asks.

Louis giggles; she’s not a giggler, but hearing her mother ask about Harry like she’s one of the family does it for Louis. “She’s good. She’s really good,” Louis says, hearing the fond in her own voice. “We both somehow ended up with this weekend off, so we’ve been hanging out together all day.”

 

“That’s great, baby,” her mother says. “You need that sometimes.”

“Yeah we do. It’s been great.” She hesitates before she says, “We had a pretty serious talk about kids.”

“Oh?”

If anything peaks Louis’ mum’s midwife heart, it’s talk about kids. Louis can’t help smiling at that thought when she says, “She’s not ready yet, but that’s alright, ya know?”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Louis says definitively. “I mean, I’m ready and I know that, but she knows that she’s not and I respect that.” 

She considers the calendar on the fridge again and sees that Harry’s brother and his family are coming over tomorrow afternoon. Harry has made note of the snacks she intends to make, so Louis opens the fridge and starts gathering items for the hummus Harry wants while her mother is telling Louis what a wonderful young woman she’s become. It’s nice to hear, especially from her mum, but it’s a bit embarrassing, honestly. 

“Are you going to be okay with it if she’s not ready in a few years?” 

Louis stops short and shakes her head. It’s a fair question, one that Louis has considered herself enough to have an answer prepared. “I honestly think she will be, but I’m not going to spend all the time between now and then preparing for the worst. If she’s not, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, but I’m not going to sit around worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Wow,” is her mum’s response.

“What?”

 

“I did a really good job raising you.”

Louis rolls her eyes and double checks the pantry for the tahini she’ll need to make this hummus. Harry will just ask her to make it tomorrow - Louis does it best and they both know it - so she might as well get it done now. 

“Well, if you’re done patting your own back, I’m going to have to run to the shops.”

Her mum’s laughter against her ear warms Louis all the way to her toes. “Alright, I’ll stop. You go do what you need to do. Give your lady a kiss for me, yeah?”

Louis assures her that she’ll be happy to do just that and rings off, dropping her phone back into her pocket and grabbing the notepad Harry keeps on the counter. She scribbles a quick note to let Harry know where she’s going and sets about rounding up her keys and her wallet. While she’s half-tempted to wake Harry and drag her along to the shops, Louis can’t bear to wake her at the moment. 

Instead, she drops a soft kiss on Harry’s smooth forehead and leaves the house with a spring in her step.

\---

There are times when Harry thinks there’s nothing in the world that feels better than stretching all of her limbs after a long, hard nap. The pop of her joints and the luxurious pull of her muscles just feels so good that she can’t help moaning as she moves, giggling a bit when her arched back settles into the soft blankets around her.

It takes her a moment to realize the film is over and she’s alone, which is not the best feeling, but she also knows Louis well enough to know she wasn’t going to lounge around with Harry for too long after the film ended. She doesn’t sit still very well, Louis doesn’t, and she probably never will. Harry imagines Louis at seventy, still bouncing around because she just never figured out how _not_ to be in perpetual motion.

With another sigh, she pulls herself up from the floor and reaches for the ceiling, groaning with the stretch again before she heads off to find Louis.

She finds the note in the kitchen - _need tahini for the hummus, love, be back soon_ \- and runs her fingers over the little smiley face at the bottom, two x’s for eyes as has been Louis’ trademark for as long as Harry has known her. Louis wears her snarky mask like a defense, but she’s the most caring person Harry knows. She would do anything to make Harry smile, including running out to buy the tahini Harry completely forgot, for hummus Harry has yet to ask her to make.

It’s just, sometimes Harry’s punched in the stomach by how much she lucked out when she found Louis. 

Listen, Harry knows she’s a neurotic mess sometimes. Back in uni, when she was just Niall’s flatmate and Liam’s writing lab partner, her anxiety felt like it was at an all-time high. She couldn’t take an exam without feeling as though she was on the brink of a heart attack. On the days she had to do presentations in class, she spent the hour before in her tiny flat’s toilet, retching everything she’d eaten in the last week. Even when she was prepared, she had trouble breathing in what she perceived as high pressure situations, and everything was high pressure back in those days.

The night she met Louis, who was a friend of Liam’s, Harry was revising for an important exam in the library. She was curled up in a corner chair, vaguely listening to Liam and Niall toss practice questions back and forth, and mentally planning her adult life without a degree because she just _knew_ she was going to fail miserably. 

She didn’t even notice when Louis joined them, so immersed in her own thoughts of inevitable destruction. 

“ _Hey gorgeous_ ,” Louis’ soft voice whispered as she squatted down in front of Harry’s chair, her smile radiant as she rested her hand on the arm of Harry’s chair. “ _Think this might help?_ ” 

Harry looked over at Niall first, found her goofing around with Liam and paying Harry no mind whatsoever, and then her eyes fell on this ethereal wood nymph, gently offering her a cardboard cup, steaming with milky tea. “ _Do I know you?_ ” Harry asked, half-convinced she’d had some sort of break and was now dreaming up her ideal version of Peter Pan come to life.

Louis just giggled and shook her head a bit, licking her lips and pushing the cup into Harry’s slack hand. “ _Liam’s mate, Louis. Brought this for him, but you look like you need it more. Can you take a drink for me, dove? Just a little sip?_ ”

Compelled to do as she was asked, Harry sipped at the tea and took a couple of deep breaths, still feeling shaky but regaining some of the feeling in her fingers and toes. “ _Thank you_ ,” she managed to whisper, smiling around the lip of the cup as she added, “ _I’m Harry, by the way._ ”

“ _I know_ ,” Louis said with a wink, giggling again when Harry’s eyebrow raised. “ _I asked Liam weeks ago, when I saw you two walking out of the arts building together. I couldn’t believe my dumbass mate knew an actual supermodel._ ”

It was cheesy and it was such a line, but Harry bought into it completely. She could feel her face flush, but she couldn’t help preening just a bit anyway. Sue her, she’s always liked attention, especially attention from a stunning little imp of a woman who never took her eyes off Harry during that first exchange that day.

“ _Now, what are you revising for, love?_ ” Louis had asked, nudging at Harry’s hip until she budged over in her chair and made room for Louis to wiggle into the seat. Her bum was spectacular, but also big enough that Harry was a bit squished. She’d never been so happy to have her space invaded, honestly.

It didn’t change everything - Harry does realize that not even Louis can cure all of her issues - but revising with Louis did help calm Harry down a bit. For someone so frenetic, Louis has a calming energy that Harry has never been able to explain but has also never bothered to question too thoroughly. It doesn’t matter why she’s able to get inside Harry’s head as effectively as she is, it just matters that she does it.

The realization that Louis is absolutely perfect for Harry - in that way and a million more - is always followed by the fear that Harry doesn’t deserve that kind of devotion. It’s not as visceral as it used to be, but Harry knows she gets busy and doesn’t pay as much attention to Louis as Louis pays to her. When she does notice, Harry is much less likely to express it verbally. Louis doesn’t doubt Harry’s love for her, at least Harry doesn’t think she does, but sometimes Harry wishes she was better at showing her just how much she means.

With that idea in mind, Harry formulates a bit of a plan. She has no idea how long Louis has been gone or how much longer she’ll be away, but if she works quickly, she should be able to set something up that will both surprise and delight Louis. 

She sends a text - _Come home, I miss you_ \- in an attempt to suss out just how long she has, even as she’s digging into the bottom drawer of their shared wardrobe.

_on line to pay now. Be home in 10 or so._

That doesn’t give Harry much time, but she’s been with Louis long enough now to know that Louis’ ten minutes is more like an actual fifteen or twenty. Still, she’ll have to move quickly if she wants this to work.

\---

The first thing Louis notices when she walks into the house is the darkness. All of the drapes are pulled and all of the lights in the front of the house are off, which is strange because Harry loves natural light and it’s the sunniest of all possible days today. 

“Babe?” she calls out curiously, heading for the kitchen to drop her bag and her keys while inclining her head to hear Harry’s response. “Where are you?”

“Bedroom,” Harry calls back. “C’mon, hurry up,” she adds, a bit breathless.

Louis can admit that tone puts some really pleasant, really filthy images in her head. Kicking her shoes off, she tells herself that she’ll deal with Harry’s ire for leaving them in the middle of the kitchen later. Maybe the gift she picked up will help Harry forget Louis’ messiness for a minute.

In the darkness of the house, she can see the glow from the bedroom, her breath catching when she stops in the doorway of their bedroom. Holy fuck, but Louis’ girl is the most perfect of all the girlfriends ever.

The room is bathed in candlelight, various shapes and sizes burning all around her. There’s soft music playing in the background, the acoustic coffee shop sound that they both love, creating a feeling of modern romance that causes Louis’ heart to trip in her chest. The oil diffusers Harry loves so much fill the room with the scents of sandalwood and cinnamon, warm and just a touch spicy. Like Harry, frankly.

Harry, who is standing next to the bed in her silk robe, her massive curls piled high on her head while some falls gently around her face and shoulders. She’s nibbling her bottom lip between her teeth, pigeon-toed and beautiful. 

“Welcome home,” Harry says with a grin, patting the edge of the bed.

Louis moves as though in a trance, unable to drag her eyes away from this angel standing before her, flushing though they’ve been together for six years now. Knowing that she still has this kind of power over Harry is a rush, but knowing that Harry still has the same power over her is better.

“This is unexpected,” Louis declares, raising the flowers in her hand. “Kind of outshines these, doesn’t it?”

Harry laughs as she takes them, lifting them to her nose while she shakes her head. “No,” she assures Louis, stepping backward to rest them on her vanity before she comes back over to Louis and swings one long, bare leg over Louis’ lap. She lowers herself, wiggling her tight, little bum against Louis’ thighs and drapes her arms over Louis’ shoulder. “They’re beautiful, babe. Thank you.”

She dips her head to bite at the hinge of Louis’ jaw, drawing a breathless, “Jesus,” from Louis. She grips Harry’s hips in her hands and angles her head to the side. “Fuck, I wanna destroy you,” she murmurs.

It’s impossible to miss the hitch in Harry’s breathing. She sits back a bit, toddles and would probably lose her balance completely if Louis didn’t still have a death grip on her. Loosening the tie of her dressing gown, Harry shrugs the silky fabric from her shoulders and blinks innocently at Louis. Well as innocently as a seductive woman dressed in nothing but a pair of black, lace knickers can, Louis supposes.

“C’mon then,” Harry encourages, catching her lip between her teeth again. She angles her head so she’s staring at Louis through her thick lashes. “I want you to,” she adds, her breath catching as she squirms her hips and grinds herself down against Louis’ thighs. To illustrate her point, she buries her fingers in the back of Louis’ hair, her tiny nipples pebbling from the friction she’s found against Louis’ jeans.

Something snaps in Louis, in her chest and head and gut. This is Harry. This is everything she’s wanted for ages now, everything she never thought she’d find in another person, everything she’s going to spend the rest of her life cherishing. 

This is Harry, well up for it with her flushing chest and neck as she stretches her back and presses a trail of wet kisses up the column of Louis’ throat. She’s every fantasy and, more erotic even, every reality and every bit Louis’. Part of Louis is overwhelmed with love for this woman.

The other part just _wants_. 

“Yeah?” she finally asks, squeezing tighter to Harry’s hips, composing herself enough to speak. “Want me to get you off, babe? Use you to get myself off? That what you want?”

Harry whimpers when Louis grabs her earlobe between gentle teeth and tugs. “Yes,” she hisses, grinding harder against Louis’ thigh.

As Harry’s body submits and relaxes, Louis’ dominant nature kicks in, trembling a bit as she slides one hand over Harry’s hip and presses the flat of her palm against Harry’s knickers. “Fuck,” she sighs, spreading her own legs a bit to drag Harry’s further apart. “You’re so fucking wet for it already, aren’t you? What were you dreaming about when I left, hm?”

If she’s not careful, Louis will come in her own pants before she even gets a chance to take her jeans off. It’s tempting, actually, but now that she’s got a desperate Harry spread out on her lap, she can’t decide if she wants to get off and then stretch this afternoon out for hours or just work at Harry until she’s falling apart first. It’s impossible to decide, so Louis thinks it’s best to let things go where they go and not overthink it.

She tugs Harry closer, tangles one hand in her hair and tugs at it until her top knot slides a bit, reveling in the groan it brings out of her girlfriend. She presses her palm tighter against Harry’s knickers and brings their lips together, sucking hungrily at Harry’s lips and tongue until Harry surges forward and sags against Louis’, her nipples hard through the thin fabric of Louis’ vest. 

She whimpers and whines into Louis’ mouth, her entire being thrown into the simple act of kissing the woman she’s been snogging since she was eighteen. It makes Louis wet, thinking about how crazy she knows Harry will go when Louis finally gets her hands on Harry for real.

Pulling back is difficult, but Louis needs to make them both a bit more comfortable. With a pat to Harry’s hip, she watches dumbly for a moment as Harry gasps for air. “Stand up, love,” she orders, watching as Harry pouts but scrambles to comply immediately.

Fuck, but she’s beautiful. Her body is long and lean, tits small but so fucking perky, with her legs that seem to go on for eternity. There’s a dark patch in the center of her knickers that Louis wants to suck for days. 

“Turn around for me, would you?” she asks, smiling a bit when Harry does it automatically, backing up until her bum is directly in Louis’ face. 

Her cheeky panties outline the swell of her little ass, soft lace like a frame around breathtaking art, more beautiful than anything Harry has spent far too much money on in the past, really. Louis leans forward and bites at the left cheek, smiling to herself when Harry squeals in surprise. 

“C’mon, H,” she says, ripping her own top off and tossing it to the floor before she scoots up the bed backwards, her thighs wide open in invitation. “Back to me, come sit,” she says when she’s reached the headboard. She pats the bed with one hand and pops the button on her jeans with the other, eyes never leaving the sinewy form of Harry’s body as she kneels on the bed and walks her way to Louis.

She turns and sits, back pressed tight against Louis’ chest. Her head drops automatically to Louis’ shoulder, their cheeks pressed together as she turns to catch another kiss, one that Louis gladly gives her. 

“So fucking hot,” Louis whispers against Harry’s mouth. “You’re just so fucking fit, babe. Can’t believe you give me this. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

Harry’s skin flushes deeper as Louis’ fingers walk over her thigh and stroke against her soft skin. “It’s all yours. Always,” she mumbles, squirming as her own hand goes to her nipple, fingers rolling it gently. 

Louis takes it in, watches the way Harry touches herself, the way she moves. Even after all this time, Louis loves watching Harry touch herself, learning exactly what Harry likes, what she needs, what gets her off. Louis loves finding the ways it differs, the way Harry reacts to her own hands on her body compared to the way she reacts to Louis’ touch. She’ll never stop wanting to hear all of Harry’s sounds, wanting to figure out which ones get to her in return. 

“Can you put your legs over mine?” Louis asks against Harry’s jaw.

She complies, spreading herself wide without hesitation or shame. She sags further back, angling her hips so Louis has free access to touch whatever she wants. Fuck, but she’s a gift, Harry is.

“That’s it,” Louis compliments, trailing the tips of her fingers higher, the heat already radiating from Harry’s center. “You make such a pretty fucking picture, darling, thighs all open for me to play with like this. Can I?” she teases a finger around the leg of Harry’s panties. “Can I play with this pretty little cunt of yours?”

“Fuck,” Harry sighs, squeezing harder at her own nipple. “Yes, Lou, please. Fucking touch me please.”

“Mm,” Louis hums, licking at the shell of Harry’s ear and smiling when she gets a high-pitched, desperate whine in response. “Can’t wait to touch you. Can’t wait to get my fingers inside these pants of yours, babe.” She tucks the tip of her pinkie under the elastic, strokes at the skin there. “Want me to tell you what I’m going to do?”

 

Louis doesn’t understand why, honestly, but Harry has always loved the sound of Louis’ voice during sex. She’s said before that the raspy tone of it, along with the soft and gentle lilt, sounds like music to her, to best kind of fucking music. Louis was never much of a talker before Harry, but knowing how thoroughly it turns her girl on has drawn out a side of Louis she didn’t even know she had.

 

“While you actually do it?” Harry asks, growling a bit of an accusation in frustration, her hips shifting slightly.

“Yeah, I’ll do it for you, love,” Louis agrees, pressing a few more kisses into Harry’s neck. “What I really want is to rip these off you, but I wanna tease you a bit, too. You’re being so good, babe, being so patient for me. I love that.”

“Love _you_ ,” Harry whispers, so sincerely and so sweetly that Louis nearly loses it.

Instead, she drops her hand back to Harry’s crotch, rubs her palm over her knickers a couple of times before pinching the sides of the lace between her fingers and dragging them up. Harry hisses, a suck of air between her teeth and turns quickly into a groan when Louis pulls on the panties. 

“That’s it, isn’t it?” she asks before a couple more kisses against Harry’s cheek. “Feels so good, doesn’t it? Looks nice, but it feels so scratchy against your soft cunt, yeah?”

“Oh fuck,” Harry swears, both hands tugging at her tits as she writhes on the fabric Louis is pressing against her now. “Fucking amazing, Lou. Feels so fucking good.”

“I know, babe,” she assures Harry, licking over the hinge of her jaw before she drops the panties from her fingers. “Take ‘em off for me.”

It takes Harry a moment, a steadying breath, before she reaches down to tuck her fingers into her waistband. She barely moves, wriggling her hips as she shimmies them down to her knees and then kicks her leg until the lace flicks off of her foot and onto the floor. 

“Fuck,” Louis sighs, resting her chin on Harry’s shoulder as she looks down her naked body, her erect nipples and the flat of her abs, starting to get a bit of definition from the training video she’s been using lately. 

Louis runs her hands down Harry’s arms while Harry turns her face to kiss sloppily at Louis’s neck. “Please,” Harry whispers as she writhes, sounding more like a question than a demand. “Touch me, please. Say something. Do something.”

Though her voice feels a bit stuck in her throat as Louis looks at the bend of Harry’s legs, at the way her swollen pussy lips glisten with her own wetness. “Fuckin’ hell, Hazza, I wanna taste every inch of you. Can’t even decide where to start.”

Her hand seems to move on its own, rubbing down over Harry’s cunt, palm dragging down and fingers teasing back up. Harry jumps a bit when Louis touches her clit for the first time.

“Oh, there it is,” Louis tells her, mesmerized by the sight of her own fingers teasing at Harry’s folds, as though she’s never done this before. “There’s the sweet spot, yeah? You like that?” She brushes over Harry’s clit again and smiles against Harry’s shoulder when Harry shudders. “Tell me.”

“Love it,” Harry moans. “Your fingers are amazing.” 

Louis slips the middle one downward, running it slowly between Harry’s wet lips. “What do you want now, babe? I can’t decide if I want to keep rubbing you just like this, just play with you like this,” she says, rubbing over it again while Harry whimpers, “or if I want to get a couple of fingers inside your hot, little cunt and let you fuck yourself on them while you rub yourself off for me.”

“Fuck you,” Harry growls this time, head lolling a bit against Louis’s shoulder. “Shit, Louis, fuck.”

She’s so pliant, so ready and willing for anything. Louis loves to watch Harry do virtually anything, to see her putting outfits together to photograph for her website or cook in their kitchen or pluck clumsily at her old guitar, but this is. Fuck, it’s still bloody unbelievable. 

She teases a finger against Harry’s hole, watches carefully as it slides easily into Harry’s slick cunt. “Oh, love,” she sighs, kissing Harry’s neck as Harry ruts against her finger.

“Another,” she asks immediately. “Gimme another, babe, please.”

Louis doesn’t argue, slipping her index finger in beside the middle one. “Wanna ride my fingers, babe? Do you need to sit up a little?”

“No,” Harry insists, raising an arm to keep Louis’s face pressed next to hers even as she begins to writhe against Louis’s fingers. “Stay right there,” she insists, her pussy sliding up and down against Louis’s fingers even at this somewhat awkward angle.

She’s huffing and moaning as she moves, slow and easy for now, and Louis bites at Harry’s shoulder, soothing over it with her tongue as she starts tweaking fingers against Harry’s nipple. 

“Know what I want to do after you come?” she asks conversationally as Harry starts to build some speed. “Want you to lie back and let me sit on your face. Can I, H? You’ve got me so wet, babe, so fucking turned on. Can I ride your tongue? Will you fuck my wet cunt with your mouth, love?”

 

“Holy shit,” Harry growls, bouncing her hips against Louis’ hand and rubbing at her own clit with nimble fingers. “Yes. Fucking yes, want you to,” she says, louder and with more force than Louis was expecting. “Can’t wait for you to fuck my face, Louis, yes.”

“Let’s do this first, though, yeah?” Louis reminds her, curling her fingers and fucking up into Harry’s tight heat. Harry screams, legitimately shouts out in surprise. “That’s it, babe. Let me fucking hear how much you like my fingers. Sounds so good, baby. You sound so fucking good.”

Harry’s sense of humor is cheeky, flirty, and sometimes dirty. Her mouth when she’s close to coming is downright filthy and Louis loves it so, so much.

“Fuckin’ hell, Louis, yeah, right there,” It devolves into nothing more than a string of incoherence and something that sounds roughly like Louis’s name as Harry comes, back straight and body rigid as her thighs shake and her cunt clings to Louis’s fingers with an iron grip. 

Louis is more interested in the blissed out look of complete abandon on Harry’s face, though. It’s beautiful, possibly the most beautiful thing Louis has ever seen, skin dewy and stained red from the exertion, hair falling miserably from its band, sticking to her neck and shoulders now.

“Oh my god,” Harry gasps when she falls back against Louis’s shoulder, still shuddering around her fingers as Louis softly strokes her through the last of her orgasm. “You’re fucking amazing,” she says on a laugh, turning to capture Louis’s mouth in a long, searing kiss. “That was unbe-fucking-lievable.”

Louis kisses her again and raises her eyebrows playfully. “We’re not done yet, love,” she promises, peppering Harry’s neck and shoulder with soft kisses. “For the record, I think you’re pretty unbe-fucking-lievable but I’m nowhere near finished with you.”

It takes a minute for Louis to untangle herself, to lie Harry back on the bed and steady herself on her feet, peeling her own jeans down her legs. Her knickers stick to her a bit as she pulls them down, smiling playfully as she flings them over her shoulder at Harry. It shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is when Harry lifts them from the bed, where they’ve fallen at her side, and lifts them into her eyeline, considering.

“You want me to gag you with them or summat?” Louis teases, crawling back onto the bed.

Harry just rolls her eyes, looking much more the petulant child than the vixen she’s proven herself to be over time. “Can’t very well eat you out if my mouth’s full of pants, can I?”

She tosses them half-heartedly onto the floor and leaves her arms lolling at her sides as she arches and gives a languid stretch, nothing but lines of soft, smooth skin that Louis wants to feast on for days. Fuck, but Harry makes it feel like there’s a damn blast furnace in her guts.

“D’you know what?” Louis asks, crawling back onto the bed and grabbing a pillow to stack under Harry’s neck. “This is probably my most frequent fantasy of you.”

“What, mocking me while I’m too fucked out to fight back properly?” Harry asks, her eyes twinkling as she watches Louis straddle her stomach. She rests her hands comfortably, automatically on Louis’s hips and catches her lip between her teeth.

Finally pulling Harry’s hair loose so she can rake her fingers through those curls, Louis gets lost a bit in watching her lovely face and forgets what she’s supposed to be saying for a second. “No, cheeky girl,” she finally breathes, a bit more soft and fond than she intends. “Is it inappropriate to admit that I’ve wanked myself off to the thought of sitting on your face more than a couple of times?” she asks thoughtfully, conversationally almost, proud of herself for the even tone.

If she’s hoping to get a rise out of Harry, she’s disappointed when Harry scrapes her blunt nails down Louis’s thighs and shrugs her shoulders before replying, “Only if it’s inappropriate to say I’ve wanked to the thought of grinding my cunt on yours until we come all over each other more than a couple of times.”

“Oh, you fucking slag,” Louis gasps, the image Harry’s now got in her head punching her in the stomach and stealing her wind. 

It’s nothing new, nothing they haven’t done hundreds of times in the years they’ve shared, but it’s still exciting with Harry. Louis thinks that’s how she knows they’re meant to be forever. She gets bored so, so easily, but never with Harry. 

\---

As she steps out of the shower, Harry honestly doesn’t know what hurts the most. Her shoulders and back are a bit sore and her legs are like noodles. Her hips twinge when she walks from the voracious pace with which Louis slammed against them just a bit ago. Her face is also aching from all the laughing that she’s done in the last couple of hours. She’ll probably be walking with a bit of a limp tomorrow, but she honestly wouldn’t want it any other way.

She yips when Louis cracks a rolled up towel against the back of her thighs. “Twat!” Harry shouts, turning to find Louis laughing, naked, as she slumps against the shower door. 

“Sorry,” Louis cackles, though she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “To be fair, though, you have these perfect, porcelain thighs. I can’t help wanting to mark them.”

With a disgruntled huff, Harry says, “Your impulse control needs work,” and returns her attention to the mirror. Louis’ eyes are still twinkling when Harry catches her reflection. “Are you hungry?”

It’s barely gone six and Harry feels like she could eat an entire buffet at the moment. Sex and emotional outbursts always make her hungry and the combination of the two has her absolutely famished. 

“I don’t know,” Louis says, tilting her head as she continues to consider Harry instead of making any move to dry herself. “I ate quite a bit already.” 

This time, it’s Harry who snaps her towel in Louis’ direction, if for no other reason than to wipe that ridiculously smug grin off Louis’ face. Louis dances out of the way and nearly trips over the edge of the bathtub, which only makes both of them laugh harder.

When Harry’s attempts to help only tangle the pair of them and drags them both to the cold floor, Louis gasps. “Okay!” she shrieks, pinching at Harry’s hip until Harry sits back and moves her bony knee from Louis’ thigh. “Go, you menace! Order takeaway and let me get my ass off the floor.”

“What do you want?” Harry asks, once she’s finally made her way to her feet. She _can_ be graceful, she just doesn’t bother when she’s home with Louis. 

“I don’t care, love,” Louis says with a shrug, struggling to stand and grunting along the way. “Just order loads,” she adds, winking because she’s a mind-reader and she fucking knows it.

Harry doesn’t bother dressing as she calls in her order, slipping instead into another one of Louis’ old shirts. It’s shorter on Harry, barely covering her bum, but Louis’ eyes always light up when she sees Harry wearing anything of hers. She’ll just turn the heating up a bit and it will all be worth it.

Louis is still in the bedroom when the food arrives, but she wanders out after Harry has all of the containers spread out on their bed of blankets in the sitting room. There’s football on the telly - the kind Louis calls _real_ football, though Harry disagrees, thanks - and Harry is resting her box of noodles on her chest while she washes her first bite down with a deep dreg of the pint she’s poured for herself.

“You’re going to choke if you don’t slow down, love,” Louis teases, nudging Harry with the point of her burgundy-painted toes.

Harry lets her gaze travel up Louis’ bare legs, finds her standing there in white briefs and a vest, her tattooed arms covered over her chest. “That’s what she said,” Harry shoots back, shoveling more noodles into her mouth before giving Louis the cheekiest grin she can.

With a sigh, Louis rolls her eyes and plonks herself down beside Harry, leaning back against the pillows when she says, “I really wish you were as funny as you think you are.”

“Hey,” Harry whines, nodding toward the container near Louis’ knee. “I got you a curry but I’ll put my foot in it if you’re not nice to me.”

“I take it all back,” Louis says quickly, grabbing the curry before Harry can so much as look at it. With a cheeky grin of her own, she adds, “You’re an angel.”

They eat in silence for awhile, Harry with her noodles and Louis with her curry, each drinking from their beers with their eyes trained on the football. Though she’ll not admit it, Harry’s skin tingles each time Louis’ thigh rubs against hers or even when their elbows bump. Six years together and she’s still giddy like a schoolgirl with a crush every time her own girlfriend touches her. It’s ridiculous, but it’s also good. It’s so, so good.

*

Louis takes in this moment, this scene that is her life, and can’t seem to help the stupid smile that curves around the lip of her pint glass. Her girl is seated at her side, dressed in Louis’ shirt, drinking a pint and shoveling takeaway into her gob like it’s her last meal. She’s completely focused on the football, a game that Harry has no real interest in but that she put on and will watch with as much intensity as she does anything simply because she knows Louis wants to watch.

“D’you know something?” Louis asks after turning to see Harry’s focused profile.

Harry takes another drink of her beer and then says, “More than one thing actually.”

She’s such a snarky little shit, Harry is. “D’you know I love you?” 

“I do,” Harry acknowledges, finally turning to see Louis staring at her. The way she blushes, from the neckline of her shirt all the way up to her ears, is the cutest damned thing Louis has ever seen. When Harry looks down at her knobby knees and then back up again, she shoves her hair out of her face and says, “Yeah, alright. I think you’re pretty swell, too, pal.”

Louis barks a laugh at the reaction. “Mum always did say I’d find meself a romantic lady one day,” she teases, nudging at Harry’s side with her elbow.

“It’s been six year, babe.” This time it’s Harry rolling her eyes. “The time for romance is over.”

“I brought you flowers,” Louis defends, nodding toward the bedroom. “I went out and bought tahini for the hummus I’m going to make for you later,” she adds. “Romance is alive and well in this house, innit?”

As if she’s caught the spirit, Harry drops her chopsticks into her noodle carton and sets it in her lap before she says, “I’m making you fajitas tomorrow afternoon!” as though it’s some sort of defense, as though she needs to defend herself against anything. “I was waiting for you naked when you got home earlier, by candlelight! And I ate your ass, which you know is not my-,”

Louis presses her smiling lips to Harry’s, cutting her off with a surprise yelp. “I stand corrected, babe. You’re a romantic goddess.”

“Damn right,” Harry agrees, huffing a bit as she tugs the stretched collar of her shirt over her shoulder with feigned dignity. “And I’m writing you a song,” she adds, pouting her lips, which makes it hard to drink, but dammit if Harry doesn’t try.

“You’ve been writing that song for two years,” Louis banters, glancing at her phone as it vibrates on the floor at her side. 

It’s true, Harry’s been trying to write her own song since the day Niall started teaching her to play the guitar. She’s got notebooks full of lyrics, beautiful ones that speak to Louis’ soul on a rather spiritual level, but crafting the proper music seems to elude her.

This time, Harry just sniffs and doesn’t deign to look in Louis’ direction. “It’s for our tenth anniversary,” she replies. “If we make it that far.”

“Fuck, I love you,” Louis breathes, overwhelmed with it in an instant. It’s not at all instantly, but in _this instant_ Louis is overcome.

“Alright,” Harry finally cracks, leaning over to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Now eat your curry, you soppy fuck.”

After another glance at her phone, Louis asks, “What time’s Gem coming tomorrow?”

“About half two, I think. Game starts at three.”

Hm. Louis sets down her fork and lifts her phone. “Liam needs a ride home from the train at seven,” she announces even as she’s replying that she is the greatest mate in the history of friendship because she will be happy to pick him up so he doesn’t have to spend anymore of his precious disposable income on a fucking taxi.

“Why can’t Niall do it?” Harry asks, though she doesn’t seem that bothered, to be fair.

Louis just shrugs. “Liam probably thinks asking her equates to a declaration of love,” she muses.

She and Harry used to be certain that Liam and Niall would end up together within a year or two. Now it’s anyone’s guess as to whether they’ll ever pull their heads out of their collective arses and admit the love everyone knows they share. They’ve lived together for three years now, for fuck’s sake.

“Hey, Lou?” Off of Louis’ distracted hum, Harry goes on. “I know I’m shit at hearing it or whatever, but I’m really glad you tell me how you feel anyway.”

The wave of pure pleasure rolls through Louis, so much love and affection and so much more sop than even Louis is comfortable conveying. “Same,” is all she says in an attempt to save them both from another round of emotion. They’ve had enough of that today, thanks.

It’s never been easy for Louis to hold her tongue, especially when it comes to Harry. When Harry started her YouTube channel and some dickhead decided to leave a bullshit comment on one of her videos, Louis dragged his ass for days. She was proud of it, in fact. She’s started bar fights because of Harry. She nearly punched Liam in the face once over something she thought Liam was _implying_ about Harry. 

It’s even more impossible for her to hold her tongue about Harry and to Harry. When she wakes up in the morning and Harry is sitting by the window, so beautifully lit like something out of a film, and fumbling with that damn guitar, all Louis wants is to gush about how much she loves this beautiful woman.

When Louis comes into the kitchen in the morning, rushing because she can’t very well punish her students for being tardy if Louis is herself, and Harry presses a packed lunch into her hands and a kiss to her mouth before smacking Louis’ ass and telling her to have a good day, all Louis wants to do is lavish her with praise for being the best girlfriend anyone’s ever had in the history of the world.

When she listens to Louis vent endlessly about a bad day or yammer on just as endlessly about a good day, Louis loves her ridiculously. When she barks those raucous laughs that seem to punch their way out of her chest and surprise even Harry herself, Louis wants to cuddle her and never let go. When Harry gets lost inside her own head and has a hard time finding her way back out again, Louis wouldn’t trade her for anyone on Earth. 

Tomorrow, when Harry spends the entire morning stressing and rushing around the kitchen to make sure everything is perfect for their guests, and even when she makes Louis run the hoover in the sitting room, Louis can’t imagine ever building her life with anyone else. 

She’ll know it’s the right decision when she watches Evie climb into Aunt Harry’s lap, when Louis sees them shouting at the television and waving their green and gold poms together, that no time is wasted in waiting for Harry to be ready to start their own family.

She won’t say any of that, though it will nearly bubble up out of her without Louis’ express permission anyway. She loves this woman too much, believes in her too thoroughly, and can so clearly see their old and graying future together. They’ll get there - someday Harry will be ready for all of it - Louis is certain.

*

Harry is nearly wiggling with excitement when she eases her car into her space in front of the house. She’s never been one to love meetings, especially ones that go all day and accomplish next to nothing, but this one was good. The upcoming weeks will be busy, promotion for her second book undoubtedly grueling, but she’s looking forward to the new world of possibilities. She honestly cannot wait to see Louis’ face when Harry tells her the biggest news to come out of the day.

She’s ready to shout it out as soon as she steps through the door, but she’s greeted with a sight so surprising, she forgets all of her words immediately. 

The dining table is set with the good china, the ones Harry’s mum bought them for their wedding six months ago, and there are tall, tapered candles lit in the center. Rose petals are sprinkled around the plates and down the center of the small table, chilled champagne glasses at each of the two seats.

“Shit!” Louis shouts from the direction of the kitchen and Harry blinks the tears out of her eyes with a chuckle.

“You alright, babe?” Harry calls out, dropping her handbag onto the table in the entry and toeing her way out of her Chelsea boots before she pads off to the kitchen. “Need some help?”

 

“No!” Louis shouts immediately, cursing again immediately.

She’s standing at the island, potato masher in hand as she growls into the large bowl, strands of her quiffed hair falling into her face. Though she’s obviously trying to set a mood here, Louis is still dressed in soft trackies and a jumper she’s had since university, basically just as Harry loves her. She’s perfect.

“What’s all this then?” she asks, approaching Louis carefully to wrap her arms around her lady’s neck and press a kiss to her ear. “Smells fantastic.”

“You know what it is,” Louis grouses, mashing the potatoes in the bowl with an unnecessary voracity. “It’s chicken stuffed with mozerella, blah, blah, blah,” Louis explains.

It’s her favorite meal to make because it’s the only one she knows how to make. Well, that’s not exactly true. Since they met, Harry has managed to teach Louis a few things in the kitchen - she can make a good quesadilla and a decent mac and cheese from scratch now - but this one dish is her favorite go-to when she wants to “impress” Harry. As if Harry needs a lot of impressing these days.

Moving her kisses to Louis’ neck, Harry hums. “What’s it for?” she asks.

Flustered, Louis wiggles out of Harry’s grip and points toward the door. “It’s for you and it’s ready. Go wash up.”

“Hey,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ wrist and tugging her back. It’s not as smooth as films make it look as Louis trips over her foot and stumbles into Harry’s side, knocking Harry off-balance a bit. It’s easy enough to steady them both before Harry rests her hands on Louis’ shoulders and finally meets Louis’ wide eyes. “Can I get a kiss first, please?”

The frantic, tense air about Louis deflates as she sags into Harry’s chest and wraps her arms tightly around Harry’s waist. “Welcome home, love,” she whispers into Harry’s neck before pulling back to accept the kiss Harry’s been waiting to give her for what feels likes hours now.

“I love you,” Harry tells her, running a thumb along the sharp cut of Louis’ cheekbone when they pull apart. “And I have massive news,” she adds with a giggle.

Louis’ smile beams as she reaches up to tangle a hand in Harry’s hair. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, but if my romantic dinner goes cold first, I’ll be very pissed off, just so you’re aware.” Her eyes narrow and she growls like a kitten, sending lightning bolts of affection shooting through Harry’s gut.

“Alright, fine,” she pouts, pressing another kiss to Louis’ head before she steps back. “Give me two minutes to wash up.”

Off of Louis’ nod, Harry heads toward the bedroom. She hurriedly tosses her hat onto the bed and tugs her shirt from her jeans, stretching her tired muscles from sitting so long for the majority of the day. She considers changing into her own trackies or just one of Louis’ old tee shirts, but settles for washing her hands and splashing a bit of cool water on her face before heading back to the dining room. Louis’ head might explode if Harry doesn’t make it quick.

By the time Harry makes her way back, Louis is setting the last of the serving dishes onto the table. As much as she teases Louis for this particular meal, it really does smell fantastic and Harry knows it will taste delicious. Her girl is not the trainwreck in the kitchen that she likes to pretend she is.

“This is amazing, babe,” Harry compliments, not even bothering to fight her own smile as she watches Louis roll her eyes and wiggle a bit in her chair. Harry doesn’t know why Louis has set up this incredibly extravagant dinner on a random Tuesday night, but she’s not going to complain about being wined and dined, not after eight years of living everyday, boring life with this beautiful lady.

“So you have big news?” Louis asks, settling her napkin into her lap and reaching for the tray of chicken.

She seems more fidgety than normal, but Harry is too excited to worry about it. She’ll ask after she shares the results of her meeting, which probably sounds selfish but Harry doesn’t even care at the moment. 

“Yes, you know the E network in America, for the telly?” Louis hums as she heaps far too much mash onto Harry’s plate. “They’ve asked me to-,”

Harry’s words die in her throat when she reaches for her napkin. Her brain goes completely blank, couldn’t remember what she was about to say if she tried, honestly.

Pregnant. 3+

The Clear Blue test stick is sitting where Harry’s fork should be, resting against a napkin and staring confidently back at Harry, bringing an unexpected bout of tears that Harry doesn’t bother trying to blink back.

“Surprise?” Louis asks, her voice hesitant and weak, scared.

Though she’s not exactly in control of her emotions, Harry laughs as she looks up. “Really?” she asks.

It’s not a surprise. Well, it is but it’s not exactly accidental. They’ve been trying for months now, since before the wedding actually. It’s been over a year since Harry decided she was ready to start a family, a careful decision that she considered for weeks before even mentioning it to Louis. For more than a year they’ve been researching options and preparing for this moment. Louis has taken the term off from teaching, given up smoking and started working out with Harry in an effort to make her body ready to carry their child.

Harry only offered adoption as a possibility once, interpreting the glare that Louis gave her as _I will be bringing our first child into the world through my own fucking womb and I’ll hear no more on the subject, thank you very much._ She was devastated when the first round of IVF didn’t work, blaming herself and Harry and the doctor and the world. It took a few weeks, but Louis’ determination kicked in after that and she has been insistent that she will go through it a thousand times if that’s what it takes.

And now it’s happening. They’re having a baby. Louis is having their baby.

“Holy fucking shit,” Harry says, laughing again as she pushes out of her chair and yanks Louis up from hers. “Babe,” she shouts, pressing her mouth to Louis’ so aggressively that their teeth clank and Louis yips in surprise before she wraps her arms around Harry.

There are tears streaming down each of their faces and the kiss is more a press of mouths laughing against each other, fingers scrabbling to dig in and hold on. 

“We’re starting our family, babe. Starting it now,” Louis whispers against Harry’s neck, sending shivers of pure elation through all of Harry’s circuits.

“We’re having a baby,” she says on a giggle, unable to wrap her head around the news that is pinging like a pinball in her brain. 

A real, live baby. A little thing that will be part Louis and all theirs, another life lighting up the halls of this little home they’ve built together. An actual baby.

“C’mere, love,” Louis instructs, guiding Harry toward her chair when Harry starts to speak several times and just can’t find the words. “Let’s have a little sit down, shall we?”

“I can’t,” Harry starts again and then stops short. She feels the chair beneath her, watches in a daze as Louis climbs over Harry’s legs and settles herself in Harry’s lap, her fingers gently carding through the hair at the back of Harry’s neck. “I don’t know how to-,”

“Are you happy?” Louis asks, as though Harry’s joyful shout a moment ago wasn’t enough assurance.

Harry supposes it’s understandable. She hasn’t shown nearly as much emotion over this entire roller coaster as Louis has, but then when has Harry ever shown as much emotion over _anything_ as Louis has really? When Harry said she was ready to have a baby, she meant she was ready. She wouldn’t have said it if she wasn’t, but somehow it hasn’t felt real yet. 

Finally, it does. It feels like an actual thing that’s happening now and, as she studies the hesitation and the fear in Louis’ eyes, the worry that maybe Harry’s silence signifies second thoughts and this is all a terrible mistake, her stomach drops. That’s not at all what Harry is thinking, not even a little bit and, inability to communicate be damned, Louis has to know that.

“Shit, Lou, yes! Yes, I’m so, so happy, babe. Over the moon, honestly. I don’t know,” she starts to say, surprised by the tears that well up in her eyes and the emotion that sticks in her throat. She’s smiling when she clears it and reaches out to hold Louis’ face with both of her own hands. “I don’t know when I’ve ever been happier.”

Louis studies her for a moment, as though she’s looking for a crack, as though perhaps Harry is telling her what she thinks Louis wants to hear. It takes only a second for her to remember that Harry doesn’t do that, she’s never been one for playing those kinds of mind games with Louis, and she beams such an impressively bright smile in return, pressing her chest close to Harry’s and hugging her neck so tightly that Harry lets out a little oomph.

“I love you so much, babe,” Louis breathes and Harry would agree, but she can’t actually form the words with Louis holding on like she is. “It’s finally happening, yeah?”

The first thing Harry says when Louis pulls back is, “We’re having a baby,” and even she knows she sounds like some starstruck knob, it’s the only thought that is fully forming in her brain at the moment.

“Are you going to keep saying that, then?” Louis teases, so much affection coloring her words as she pushes Harry’s hair back from her face and continues to push her fingers through it, her little body squirming constantly against Harry’s legs.

Harry can feel her face flush, but she nods anyway. “Sorry,” she apologizes quickly. “I just don’t. It’s so. We’ve been. This is.” Flustered, she shakes her head and laughs as she says, “We’re having a baby!” again, with so much force that Louis sits back a bit, her face tilted toward the ceiling as she laughs.

“Yeah, we are,” Louis agrees, giggling with her eyes all crinkled up in the corners when she meets Harry’s intense gaze again. “We really are having a little baby boy or girl of our very own, love. Which means, I think, that you better be prepared to bring in a serious paycheck because my one-term hiatus is going to be lasting at least a year now.”

She’s teasing, but Harry suddenly remembers her big news. It just doesn’t seem as big now. “It’s covered,” she assures Louis, grateful more than she was even a few hours ago, for the opportunities her silly little blog and channel have afforded her. She has a family to support now, after all. “I’m going to be presenting a series of specials for E.”

Louis’ eyes widen, her mouth dropping open when she laughs this time. “Harry, that’s amazing! Babe, that’s bloody huge!”

It’s really not, in light of everything, Harry thinks. It’s a fluffy little series of shows about the life of a blogger and how to adapt high fashion to everyday life. Sure, it’s exciting, but it’s not life-changing. 

When Harry says as much - _Our having a baby is bloody huge, Lou. The telly’s just job stuff._ \- Louis huffs and pushes at Harry’s shoulder with a sincerely admonishing scowl. “It’s not _just_ anything, love. I’m so fucking proud of you, Harry. You’ve worked so hard for this and it’s here and I am so fucking proud.”

Again, Harry feels her cheeks flushing. The thing is, she used to be worried that she couldn’t do it all, a career and a family and happiness and all of it. She used to worry that a baby would make everything else harder and everything else was more important back then. Right now, with Louis looking for all the world like she literally could not be happier if she was gifted a million dollars and a life-sized Spiderman statue, Harry can’t remember why she ever bothered herself with silly things like choosing one path over the other.

“Harry,” Louis adds, this time grabbing Harry’s face in both of her hands and leaning in until their heads are touching and Harry goes cross-eyed trying to focus. “Our kid is going to get to watch his or her mummy on the telly. And he or she,” she tilts her head as she considers, “or they really, are going to be just as proud of you as I am. It’s amazing, love.”

For some reason, the way Louis says it hits Harry so hard in the gut, it nearly steals her breath. She’s going to have a child. A he or she or they who calls Harry _mum_ \- or whatever they choose to call her someday, Harry really doesn’t care - and she’s going to be responsible for raising that child with Louis. 

“I’m going to be a mum,” she says, her fingers pressing against Louis’ hips as she repeats it. “We’re going to be mums, Louis. Actual mothers.”

“We already are, darling,” Louis agrees, leaning away from Harry until her back hits the table where, frankly, her specially prepared dinner has gone cold. Harry doesn’t think Louis minds as much as she said she would earlier. “ _And_ you’re going to be famous, just like I always said you would do.”

She has always said that, Louis has. For as long as Harry’s known her, before she expressed any desire to do anything that would be considered for public consumption, Louis has insisted that Harry would someday be famous. Harry clearly remembers the time they were watching telly together back in university and Louis made her sign a napkin from the takeaway down the street, said she was going to keep it so someday she could say she got _the_ Harry Styles’ first autograph.

It’s still in Louis’ wallet, Harry knows, but she’s always thought it was so silly. Now, though, it seems. Well, it seems possible. Everything seems possible with Louis, Harry realizes, and it always has. Louis is the person that makes her believe, above all of her doubts and hesitations and insecurities and pessimism, that absolutely any fucking thing is possible.

“Our life is pretty awesome,” she declares, tugging Louis in for another kiss.

Louis laughs against her mouth, indulging Harry for a moment before she pulls back and agrees. “It really, really is.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here](http://littlelostpieces.tumblr.com/), if you want to come say hi.


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